


Hex

by brittlelimbs



Series: Reylux Drabbles [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Military Backstory, Minor Injuries, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexual Fantasy, as per usual, ex-military hux, gym rat ben solo, personal trainer rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6948310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/pseuds/brittlelimbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux is in limbo. Forced stateside by a knee injury while on his first tour of Afghanistan, he's stuck looking options to rehabilitate his injury, and a way to reconcile being a civilian again with the life he once knew.<br/>What he ends up with, instead, is a <i>whopping<i></i></i> crush on his physical therapist-come-personal trainer. Oh--and her jacked, gym-rat boyfriend, who has a bewildering habit of getting all up in Hux's personal space while he spots him on his back squat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aicosu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicosu/gifts).



> based on a wonderful aesthetic post by my friend aicosu!  
> finally !! i get to geek out about lifting !!

Rey is—cute. Her nose is cute. Her smile is cute. Her little Lulu Lemon yoga pants are annoyingly, stupidly cute; Hux is honestly disgusted by how long it takes for him to tear his eyes away from her ass when she leaves the table, getting massage gel in prep for their session. He stares vacantly at out the window of the therapy room, watching cars slog through the drizzle, instead, and wryly wonders if perhaps there’s more than one reason Phasma recommended her so… emphatically. Uncharacteristically. Other than that this woman—who Hux swears can’t be out of undergrad—is very, very good at what she does. Which is to say: heal what’s broken.

Rey is cute, but when she digs her thumbs into his IT band, kneading and pushing and stretching at Hux’s most tender, aching wound, there is nothing sweet about her at all.

“Sorry—too much?” her hands soften instantly, fluttering away from his knee.

“No. No. I’m fine,” He grits out. He’s trying very hard not to scream. He can feel the sweat beading on his forehead.

_Get your fucking shit together, Hux! You’ve seen worse than a college kid with a 150 watt smile and fingers like fucking needles and oh my god that hurt so much--_

“Keep going,” he says, trying for a smile. “I’m alright, it’s just a little—tender.” Isn’t that the truth; it’s been five months since he was given medical leave for his chronic knee pain, and look at him. Civ life is making him soft.

Rey continues, and by the end of the session, the only thing standing between Hux and tears is an iron-hewn sense of pride.

“Man, you’re tight!” she exclaims, using a soft towel to rub off some of the excess gel from Hux’s gently trembling leg. “I think I loosened it up a bit, but we’re gonna have to keep working on the whole knee to keep you from overcompensating.” She tosses the towel into a bin by the table. “When did it start, again?”

Hux sighs a little before he can stop himself; it’s been a sore point (ha) in his mind for almost half a year, now. When he looks up, Rey’s staring at him intently, and Hux is honestly baffled at the intensity of her interest for a moment until he remembers that one: she is paid to do this, and two: this is actually crucially relevant information. He quashes the disappointment before it even has time to articulate itself.

“On tour,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Twisted it on uneven terrain.” He berates himself for being so vague; she’s just trying to help him. He just doesn’t quite feel like digging into the pulpy guts of those memories quite yet. The pain so strong that he’d nearly thrown up from the sheer agony of it, the embarrassment (because what a stupid, _useless_ way to go down), the way the dust coalesced up into his nose and mouth when he stumbled, staining them the wet-dark color of gold. Some of his troop had died that day, and Hux had literally fallen short of their aid.

If Hux had learned one thing on his first tour of Afghanistan, it was this: failure tastes like clay.

“Tour. “ She blinks. “ _Oh_. Well, ah,” she pauses awkwardly. “Thank you for your service, Mr. Hux,”

He nods, hoping with a indistinct but dogged persistence that the softness in her eyes isn’t pity. He’s had more than enough of that for one life time. Two.

Then she slaps a hand down on the vinyl cushion of the table, making him jump, and there’s nothing remotely pitying about it.

“Well, I think we’ve made some progress today, at least.”

He agrees quickly, anxious to move the topic to something else. She starts puttering around the room, putting things away.

“I want you to keep stretching on your own at home. Do you have a foam roller?” Hux thinks of his spartan studio apartment. He doesn’t.

“Buy one. Or if you can’t, a tennis ball should work.”

Hux sits up, slowly, wondering where on earth he’s going to acquire a single tennis ball (maybe he can steal one from a court somewhere?) as Rey finishes straightening everything up. She smiles at him. He notices, then, that she has just the tiniest, subtlest hint of an under bite. It’s impossibly more endearing.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you next Tuesday, Mr. Hux.”

“Hux,” he says as he stands creakily on both legs, wondering at the fact that it _does_ feel a little bit better, wondering if it’s possible to feel attracted to someone this quickly.

“Just Hux.”

 

 

After the first few weeks, once Rey has deemed him flexible enough to start lifting, they start supplementing his therapy with light strength training. He likes how he’s grown so much more comfortable with her, now, the cadence of how she speaks and moves, even just how her body heat feels, tucked against his side as she helps deepen his stretches. Hux would say he’s falling for her, but it’s—different. No blushing, secret longing, no stammered nervousness, nor any of his other usual tells. It’s just an unhurried feeling around her, relaxed, almost, and damn, but he can’t remember the last time he actually used _relaxed_ as a word to describe himself.

She works him, hard, and it feels good.

He might be a dead man when he goes back to his apartment every evening, and _medical leave_ is starting to sound a lot like _honorable discharge_ with each week he marks down on his wall calendar, but this? Yeah, good.

He ruins it.

One dreary Tuesday, when she’s showing him how to do glute bar lifts, he boils over. Just a little bit. She’s got the bar perpendicular across her lap, knees bent, rubberized plates weighing heavy on either side, and when she thrusts her hips up in her first rep (“make sure you extend all the way out”) Hux’s mouth goes _dry_. God knows it’s hard enough to stand watching her as it is, but something this explicit, this lewd—his self control has evaporated all at once, vanished along with the insistence that this thing is just a silly little crush, folded soft into the tender core of his scarred-up heart. Infatuation first, now lust, undeniably. Straight-up, shot through with a molten sort of heat that Hux hasn’t felt for long enough to almost find the sensation alien.

It’s stupid, and he hates himself for it, but he takes himself in hand when he’s showering off after their workout, sequestered behind a flimsy curtain in the gym’s locker room showers. Plants one hand high on the tiled wall, boxes his legs out wide, maybe to accommodate the fantasy of her between them, or maybe just to keep from falling from the heady vertigo of his arousal. Doesn’t matter. This is not the first time he’s jacked off thinking about her. No, far from it; it’s _embarrassing_ how quickly she’d become fodder to slake his loneliness. He’d become depressingly well acquainted with his hand since he enlisted, has gotten used to scrapping up vague fantasies into a tight, wet mouth around his cock, fingers inside him. Rey was interwoven into these, the vague suggestion of her smile laced into the set of a mouth before it went down on him. The strong, golden sinew in the arms braced over his shoulders, bouncing with his thrusts. Her smell.

This time, though, it’s all of her. Whole, unadulterated, compiled and mapped and known through weeks of working together. He’s never seen her naked, but he might guess how truly glorious her body looks well enough, thanks to the candy-colored tightness of yoga pants, sports bras, tank tops. His stomach rankles even has he takes his first ridiculously satisfying full-bodied thrust into his fist; he’s such a creep. He can imagine in full, hair-splitting splendor precisely what she’d look like knelt down on the tile before him in supplication. Hair and skin dark and slick, wetness trembling on the edges of her heavy lashes, droplets on her freckles. Red mouth, accented; not hungry, precisely, but _ready_. She’d look at him the same way she’d look at a particularly challenging circuit, he fancies, something to be conquered, savored like the the warm, pleasantly tired buzz of exertion in her muscles.

No, better—his cock springs tight to his abs for a moment as he reaches for the soap dispenser, takes a pump, slicking himself against the too-much chafe of the tepid water—she’d look at him as something to be cared for. To be taught.

He’s tapped into a well of something terrible, something needy, but all at once it’s the most white-hot fantasy Hux has ever experienced and he couldn’t stop going if he tried: there, on her knees, she takes him apart and put him back together again in the most beautiful way possible. Hands, cupped into the tender skin at the vee of his thighs, coaxing him, lapping and sucking so perfectly that Hux is powerless to do anything but yield.

Somewhere, in a different space, his hand is blurring on his cock and he can only spare a half a thought to hope that no one hear the lewd, wet slap of flesh on flesh; only a few seconds later he comes, sudden and blinding. He bites into his fist to keep from groaning as white ropes pulse against the tile wall, Rey smiling up at him with all the knowing satisfaction of a pleased housecat, kneeding at him with her hands that hurt, hands that heal.

_Hux._

He moans softly once the world comes round again, leaning back against the wall as the water pounds against his heaving chest, flushed, flustered. He raises his soiled hand, pulse roaring in his ears, contemplating it for a moment, before rinsing it under the spray. He rubs the wall clean, too, suddenly acutely ashamed of the fact that the hardest orgasm he’s had in _months_ was in a public shower stall.

Over Rey, and nothing else.

Hux watches the come and soap bubbles swirl down the drain between his splayed feet, pale skin on the pale tile, and sighs.

What a pitiful man he is.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ floatin-on-bespin !


End file.
